


Essence of Teas

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Soul the Color of Poppies [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fluff, Full Moon, Intimacy, Late at Night, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Tea, tea magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: It's a thing now. Every full moon, Derek will stop by to bother Stiles, take a seat as he watches him do whatever it is he is doing that moon, and quietly sip his tea.Stiles decides to make him a special blend. It's fine - Derek won't know what it means.





	Essence of Teas

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the periods of time between these being posted. They're just somewhat self-indulgent to me, so I'd rather not work on them all around the clock, for fear of burning out or losing my love of them. 
> 
> That aside, they're getting fuzzy now, huh? I should be putting more tension in these and blood and action and what not, yeah? Lmao, in reality though, I'm thinking this one will be a bit of a building block to further their relationship. 
> 
> Inspiration/References include: mainly [this one](https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/2018/4/22/how-to-craft-magic-with-teas-and-herbal-brews), with helping links from witchipedia (love that site) [here](http://www.witchipedia.com/herb:chamomile), [here](http://www.witchipedia.com/herb:ginger), and [here](http://www.witchipedia.com/herb:monarda) \- and [this](http://vayas-witchcraft-and-spiritual.tumblr.com/post/111658090940/ingredient-honey).
> 
> [Music that I listened to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxLbNA6GHVw&feature=youtu.be&t=112), though it has little to do with the fic.

                This time, when Derek appears in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere, Stiles has something to give him. By this point, they don’t pretend to be surprised to see each other anymore. It’s the full moon, and they have a bit of a standing plan for it. It’s an unspoken thing, but every full moon, Derek shows up in Stiles’ house, no matter what he is doing, no matter if he will be a good host or not. He’ll sit down in front of Stiles and sip his tea. For the most part, it has been whatever Stiles had on hand, which was usually some pretty cheap bags of chai, something he would drink when he wanted something warm that reminded him of his mom.

 

                This time, though, before Derek can make himself a cup, Stiles hands him a jar of something different, new. It’s a mixture he’d put together himself, something close to one of his mother’s favorites.

 

                When he tells Derek to brew some up and to add a little bit of honey to each cup, Derek unscrews the lid to the jar and inhales. His eyelids hood and, staring down at it, he asks, “What is it?”

 

                “Tea,” Stiles states, bluntly, with a raised eyebrow, but he knows his damned heartbeat gives him away. It, along with the tightness in his throat and drying in his mouth, are cues that Derek can pick up on that tell him it’s more than just _tea_.

 

                Derek looks up at him slowly, and though he doesn’t say anything else, Stiles just knows he won’t let it go. He doesn’t ever really seem to, not when it’s about Stiles’ magic. He always seems so genuinely curious, legitimately wanting to know, to learn, and that always seems so bizarre to Stiles.

 

                He supposes that he grew up with it all, that this is all old news to him, but not to Derek. Derek doesn’t like being in the dark. But still, the way Derek will _look_ at him, intent with those piercing, bright eyes of his, watching like he doesn’t want to miss even a second of whatever it is that Stiles is doing…

 

                Well, it’s certainly something else. Something he doesn’t want to put a name to. Not so soon, when it’s so new, fresh.

 

                Still, he doesn’t let himself shy from Derek’s gaze when he revises his answer, “Mo – My mom’s Holy Herbal Trinity tea. It’s got chamomile, ginger, and ginseng in it.”

 

                “And something else,” Derek prompts with a brief flaring on his nostrils.

 

                “Yeah. Uh,” Stiles licks his lips, brows furrowing a little. He didn’t add much of it, but, “Bergamot.”

 

                Derek nods, like that was the answer he was expecting, and Stiles wonders if he actually knows the scents of particular teas and plants and flowers. He wonders what his backyard, full of most of the things he needs (that can grow here, anyway), smells like to Derek. He knows, to himself, it smells like _home_ and his childhood, nostalgia. He’s never really asked what it would smell like to anyone else, if they’d have a particular idea or name to it, rather than just a bunch of random smells.

 

                He wonders if his garden smells like to him is what the woods smell like to Derek.

 

                “What do they mean?”

 

                Stiles stares at him, mouth falling the smallest bit open. He’s right, obviously, in assuming that the teas each have their own meanings, but he didn’t expect Derek to think to ask about that. He should have, he supposed, given Derek’s affinity for catching onto the things Stiles can usually get passed everyone else – as well as his ability to always surprise Stiles.

 

                “Chamomile,” he starts, and clears his throat when his words are raspier than they were a moment ago, looking down at his closed spell book beside his lap. “Is commonly used for healing and relaxation. It brings tranquility and luck, and helps in releasing feelings of loss, pain, and anger.”

 

                He glances up at Derek at that last part, knowing – from Scott – that Derek’s anchor is anger. He was almost afraid that Derek would have a negative reaction to that, but Derek has no outward reaction, aside from the slightest pinching between his eyebrows.

 

                He wants to say, _I used to drink it a lot, after the funeral_ , but the words catch in his throat, so instead he looks away again. Eyes back on the jar, he continues, “Ginger brings success, prosperity, confidence, and power.” It is also known for its _sense of adventure_ , something Stiles initially debated on whether or not he should be giving _Derek_ – God knows that man has seen too much _adventure_ in his life – but…

 

                There was a voice in his head, sounding too close to his mother’s, that said that magic, especially given with good intent, didn’t always take the straightforward path. Maybe his sense of adventure would be good things, things he needed, rather than things that would put deeper chinks in his armor. Magic was made with intent – nothing was inherently good, or bad. They were just made up with meanings that he could enhance or subvert, all with his own doing.

 

                So, in the end, he’d thrown in the ginger and hoped for the best.

 

                “Ginseng is pretty much protection,” Stiles said next, and while his words were true, they weren’t…. whole. Ginseng was also for beauty and _love_. (Which, funnily enough, was also a common connection to chamomile.) Stiles wasn’t focusing on those attributes.

 

                Plus, Derek didn’t need any more help in the beauty department.

 

                Derek’s thumb thoughtfully runs over the corner of the lid of the jar he’s still holding. Stiles takes care not to pause while he watches it. “The bergamot was for protection, too. From evil and illness and the like.” It should also block any other magical interference – not that Stiles was worried of any, but it couldn’t hurt.

 

                When he finishes, he looks up at Derek’s face again, but Derek is looking down at the jar, still thumbing it. After a quiet moment, one that Stiles doesn’t move from, only continuing to watch Derek through, Derek asks, “And the honey?”

 

                Ah.

 

                “Flavor,” Stiles says, with a shrug and a wry twist of his lips. “Though, it can be used magically, for uh…” He thinks about it for a second, squeezing one eye shut, though he’s pulling entirely out of his ass here. “Binding, ‘cause it’s sticky, maybe. Sweetening, of a person or a relationship. Good health.”

 

                Derek nods again, really, the only acknowledgement of the fact that he was listening. Despite it, Stiles doesn’t mind. He kind of likes it. Being able to talk about this kind of stuff, especially with someone who wants to listen to him.

 

                Before he can let that warm feeling get the best of him, he opens his mouth again. “So… Are you going to drink it?”

 

                Derek looks up, and there’s a second where his eyes are almost… searching, when they look at Stiles’ own. Then he’s turning away, towards the cups. “I’ll have some.”

 

                Stiles watches him, even though he already knows that Derek can make a pot on his own. He’s seen Derek use Stiles’ mother’s old pot, something dark-colored and ornate, easily hot to the touch. It’s something that Stiles doesn’t deal with much, preferring the ease of bagged than loose leaf, but he’s seen Derek pull down the tin of peppermint, too.

 

                He wonders about asking – where did Derek learn to make tea? Did his family make it a lot, too? Did his sister? Does he drink tea on his own, when he’s alone? Does he curl up with a book and listen to the rain with a hot cup between his palms?

 

                When Derek pulls down two mugs, Stiles stops him, unable to help the soft smile audible in his words, “Don’t bother for me – I don’t like bergamot.”

 

                That was probably too clear a way of saying he made that mixture just for Derek, but he finds that doesn’t really care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this (and the others). I hope you're enjoying them as much as I am as I am writing them!


End file.
